Hi, I'm Robert Pattinson
by morrigan the undead
Summary: A brief fantasy on what else could've happened the day Rob almost got run over because of fans. What if a certain someone helped him? In the tradition of Notting Hill! One shot.


**Let's face it... don't you wish you were there the day Rob almost got mauled by fans? I don' know if I'll be envious or angry with them. Hmm... what if he escaped for a while?**

**This is for Lianne. In the tradition of Notting Hill. Love you Mrs. Cullen!**

Of course I've seen him in his films and I think they're fairly fantastic. Him, most especially. But he was just another yet unreachable part from my small corner of the world.

Here is my corner, by the way- the Archstone Clinton Apartments located near 9th Avenue. I rent a small studio-type on one of the upper floors. I am a professional blogger and freelance writer.

Whenever I wanted some human interaction I only need to walk out and stroll down restaurant row on 7th, where you can find practically any cuisine you want. Then there are the crowds coming out of Lincoln Square after a game or concert. There's Times Square, with the endless stream of pedestrians walking under the brilliantly illuminated billboards.

And lastly, there are the film shootings.

They say that in New York, you either love or hate it when there's a shooting. They can either cause traffic and be quite messy, or they can bring additional revenue and need the occasional crowd extras, capturing even a miniscule image of you forever. I'm more for the former, and that's why I usually either walk or use a motorcycle whenever I need to go somewhere.

Now little did I know that this day will be a bit different.

I went to my favorite deli on 5th, for my usual supply of goodies. I just finished a particularly difficult piece and I felt like celebrating. And tea. Lots of it.

"Good day to you! The usual, I presume?"

"Hi." I smiled at Mr. Tosci. "Traffic's really bad, huh?" For Manhattan, that's especially worse.

"Yes, they're shooting a movie, like always," he said, rolling his eyes. "Some hotshot heart throb something-or-other."

"There's always a heart throb something-or-other." I grinned. "They can't afford not to if they're shooting downtown."

"You be careful when you go out, believe me, I heard the police say that his fans are really nasty." He paused from slicing the sausage and waved his knife to emphasize.

"Thanks, I'll take note of that." Really, I should have. So I went out, my helmet under my arm. I heard some screaming behind me, but it was a bit far off so I thought it was just sirens.

I got on my bike, kicked up the stand, and secured my goodies in my backpack. My hands were raised to put on my headgear when it was snatched from me in midair. Before I could react, I felt a pair of arms go around me, along with the additional weight of someone getting on behind me.

"Drive, please," a soft voice urgently whispered in my ear.

"O-kay...Who are you? Is this a robbery?"

"Please, just drive. I really need your help right now." His breath was hot on my earlobe.

Right. Deep breath. Nobody called me a martyr for nothing. They also said I had bad judgment. Still not looking back, I gunned the engine and roared off. The screaming was getting closer. With my unseen passenger wearing my only helmet, I made a quick assessment of the possible routes with little or no cops.

"Hold on tight," I shouted back, then brought the bike up the sidewalk, turning quickly to a wide side alley. He never complained whenever he was jostled, and even knew how to align his body when I banked a bit close as I navigated a turn. He was lean, but muscular- that much I can tell from the arms wrapped around my midsection. He never mentioned a destination, so I took him to the only place that came to mind: mine. People also say I'm stupid.

We came to a screeching halt at the parking lot, leaving a trail of skid marks along the asphalt. On impulse, I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes? Not bad. Then I remembered someone was with me.

Crap.

"Alright," I said, slowly stepping away after we got off. "Whatever you want, please, just take it, I'm not very rich so I suppose you'll be a bit disappointed, but--"

"Can we go inside, please?" Weird. He still hasn't taken off the helmet. "I promise I'm not going to do anything, I just need a phone."

I stared at him. He was a bit tall, my 5'2 just barely reaching his chest. His shirt was in tatters, as if it was ripped away. There were scratches and bruises along his arms. There was a hole on one knee of his jeans. And he had only one shoe. Okay, maybe I wasn't so stupid after all.

I sighed. "Follow me."

I put a firm hand on my mouth as I went in, stifling the weird urge to giggle. What's with me? We never spoke as the lift took us up to the 8th floor, avoiding each other's eyes. Or at least I think I was. It's hard to tell with his face well-hidden. Was he even looking at me?

"Here we are." We stopped at 81a, and I pulled out the key and pushed the door open. "It's a bit messy, sorry, but I never expected company." Grinning at him, I went ahead. He merely followed.

"You look awful. Do you hurt somewhere else?" I never asked if he was okay, because he so obviously wasn't. My samaritan urge taking hold of me, I went to the tiny kitchen and rummaged around the cabinets. "I think I have something for those scratches you have."

"Thanks." His voice was hoarse, but clear. He had taken off the helmet, apparently.

I still didn't turn around, I was too busy looking for my first-aid kit.

"Were you mugged, or something?"

"Yeah, I suppose you can call it that."

British accent. Wait. My hand froze on the act of opening a bottle of aspirin. His voice sounded familiar. What did I see downstairs again?

His hair. His hair was brown, and tousled. Uh-oh. I think I have an idea.

"They were after me, I barely escaped, thank God you were almost leaving," he sighed, and flopped down my battered couch. Slowly turning around, I mentally prepared myself not to scream....

I was right. People say I have the strangest luck.

Robert Pattinson was in my apartment, sitting on my couch.

And he was every inch as beautiful as he appeared in the big screen. More, if possible. A bit battered, yes, but still as beautiful as ever. Huh. No wonder they tried to tear his clothes off. Gotta stay calm, gotta stay calm, gotta---

"Would you like some tea?" I blurted out, then felt my face getting hot.

Yep, they were right about the smile.

"You have tea?"

"Yeah, I like Earl Grey."

"I thought Americans liked coffee better." He made an attempt at levity, but he was still shaken.

"Well, technically my mother was half-Irish, I believe, so there." I laughed nervously, then turned around once more to busy myself with the kettle. My hands were steady enough. Good.

Small talk, right. "Um---so you were with the film crew downtown?"

"Yes, we were shooting some outdoor scenes, and some girls got past the security cordon."

He visibly shuddered. "I got out of my trailer and next thing I knew there were a lot of hands on me, pulling me everywhere, and I ran out across the street."

Wow, I was embarrassed. "Sorry. We American girls can be a bit--too enthusiastic."

Rob laughed, a harsh short bark. "I say! I mean, if I went down I wondered what else could have happened. I would've been kidnapped, I suppose. Not that I have value, though."

"Some would disagree." Finally, the water was hot. There was another awkward silence as I put the water, then the tea bags, in mugs. I went back and gave him one, cradling the other mug on my left. Then there's another dilemma. I only had one couch.

"I'm so sorry for this, I really am," he sighed, raking his hands through his fabulously tousled locks. He took a sip of the tea and closed his eyes, sighing. "Thanks for that. I really needed it."

I shrugged. "No problem. As long as you're here, would you like a shower, a change of clothes, something like that? I have a spare shirt." Thank the stars that my stupid older brother sometimes crashed here. I was still standing.

"Please, that would be wonderful."

"Sure. Just, uh, get in the shower, it's that small room by the left. I'll lay out some clothes for you. And take these," I added, dropping a couple of tablets on his palm.

His eyes sparkled as he opened them again. "That would be great. Thanks so much."

For his sake, I never turned on the TV. I made use of my nervous energy fumbling around my closet, trying to look for a good shirt for him. I hope he liked sweat shirts. His jeans are still okay. Underwear---no, don't even think about it, don't.

Robert Pattinson was in my shower. My heart went to overdrive again. Come on, hands, don't fail me now, please.

A few minutes later and he was dressed, waiting for his agent after making a call on my phone. Even an old grey sweatshirt looked expensive on him. There was another mug of tea between his hands. We talked, a bit. Small stuff about my work, the weather, the city. Americans in general. He was interesting, and interested.

"I'm sorry, this must be quite hard." I swallowed. But I really feel guilty, as if I mugged him myself. "You must be sick of this."

Rob smiled, gently. There was a bit of stubble growing on his otherwise youthful jaw.

"Would you believe I never expected this? This is the price I have to pay. I just have to be more ready, I suppose."

"Like wearing a disguise, or something?"

He laughed. "Yes, I suppose so."

There was a flurry of knocks on my door, making both of us jump. "That must be Amanda." He got up and looked out the peeping hole, and sighed again. He opened it slowly, and a small woman wearing dark glasses and expensive-looking suit brushed in. Before the door closed I glimpsed a few burly-looking men outside.

"Oh my God, look what they did to you!" She clucked over him, poking at a few of his wounds. "I hope somebody got that on tape, because we could sue! I swear! We didn't know where to find you, you left your phone, and my goodness!" The dark lenses focused on me, and she came over to kiss the air on my cheeks. "Dah-ling! Thank you so much, you were really good! What can I do for you? Tell me anything!" She really said that. I thought I only heard that in the movies. Her teeth were perfectly even and sparkling white.

"Really, it wasn't any trouble. I was going home myself, he just made it a bit faster."

She turned away before I finished talking. "Come, dah-ling, we need to get you to a doctor, check your statement, the producers were absolutely frantic!"

"Sure." He held up a finger. "Can you wait for me outside? I won't be long."

"Of course! Here, dah-ling," she said, thrusting out something at me. I took it absentmindedly. Squeezing his cheek, she rushed out like a sequined tornado.

Another awkward silence. He walked over to where I was still standing, beside the couch. His eyes. I could positively drown in them.

He tousled his hair again, smiling shyly. "I guess it would be cheap if I just offer to sign that, right?" He gestured to what I was holding.

Amanda the agent had given me a magazine, with him as a cover. "Oh. Yeah. I mean, no, that would be nice, but you don't have to."

"I'm sorry I never introduced myself. My manners are boorish." Softening the criticism with another smile, he held out his hand. "I'm Robert. Thank you for helping me."

I took it, glad that my hands were relatively dry. "I'm Bella."

His eyes sparkled. "What a fantastic coincidence."

"Yeah." We smiled at each other. There was another discreet knock. "Don't worry, I won't even believe myself when I remember this."

He laughed softly, moving closer. I felt his breath on my face, and I closed my eyes before I saw him get even closer. I felt the gentle pressure of his lips-his live, warm lips-on mine.

Then he pulled away.

"I'll remember you, Bella."

And he was gone.

* * *

**Sigh. **

**M**


End file.
